terrible wind

katsukiyuuristrophyhusband  asked:

post-canon domestic fluff :)

Yuuri makes a very important discovery one morning, one rare morning when he actually wakes up first and doesn’t immediately crave the sweet darkness of sleep.  No, he wakes slowly and easily, warm and well-rested, and for once, he doesn’t really care what time it is.  Instead he just sighs, noting the warm, heavy weight of Viktor’s arm over his hips, and rolls over slightly–

–and freezes.

And it’s not like he’s never seen Viktor asleep before, or even that he’s never noticed the smattering of pale freckles that lie sprinkled across his bare shoulders.  He’s seen the way Viktor’s eyelashes flutter ever so slightly as he dreams, seen the rise and fall of his body as he breathes.

All of that, and yet, in this moment, he still finds his breath taken away when the sunlight slants through the window just so, and Viktor’s hair falls across his face at just the right angle, all mussed and wavy from sleep, lit up like molten silver in the morning glow.  Yuuri lies there and looks at him, breathless with wonder, and realizes, oh.  I really am married to the most beautiful man in the world.

And then he wants to laugh, because he knew that already!  It’s not a discovery if he’s been aware of it since he was twelve.

But there’s something different about this Viktor, the Viktor who snuggles close and tucks his nose into the crook of Yuuri’s neck and wraps himself around him as they sleep, as if he’s afraid to be left alone (or, perhaps, because he just seeks out any and all warmth as he sleeps, because he’s clingy like that).  There’s something tender and warm and beautiful in a wholly different way about the imperfections–about the messy, untamed hair, the slight crease in his brow from time to time, and the freckles that are no longer hidden under foundation.

Yuuri touches one of those beautiful, pristine, imperfect cheeks, and smiles.  He strokes his thumb over Viktor’s cheekbone, caresses away the hair flopping across his forehead, and pulls his husband closer, tucking him snugly beneath his chin. 

Viktor stirs with a slow, soft sigh.  “Yuuri?” he mumbles, shifting, stretching his long legs beneath the sheets.  Yuuri hugs him tight and doesn’t bother fighting down the smile that tugs at his cheeks when he hears Viktor’s soft, sleep-roughened voice, a voice meant only for him.  

“I’m here,” he mumbles back, closing his eyes again.  The sun is pleasantly warm against his skin, and Viktor presses close, nuzzling his neck with another sigh.

“G’mornin’, my love,” he murmurs, more asleep than not, and Yuuri smiles, heart full fit to burst.

“Good morning, dear,” he says, and it is.


“There was a feeling, not sudden, but complete, as though I had been given a small object to hold unseen in my hands. Precious as opal, smooth as jade, weighty as a river stone, more fragile than a bird’s egg. Infinitely still, live as the root of Creation. Not a gift, but a trust. Fiercely to cherish, softly to guard. The words spoke themselves and disappeared into the groined shadows of the roof.”

for Gosia

Storms, mini-fic.

Second night with a big storm. I need to write to keep myself distracted. 

it’s late, i haven’t sleep well in two days. i don’t know what to sya. 

A flash. 

Lance closes his eyes and hold his breath. 

Then a thunder. 

He jumps and whimpers. His grip on his blankets becomes stronger. His heart is racing and he can feel his anxiety growing beneath his skin. 

Breath, just breath. Everything will be fine. You’re not a baby anymore, Mcclain. You shouldn’t scared of something—

Another thunder, louder this time. 

Lance tries to hide under his covers, He puts his hands over his ears, trying to block that awful. 

It terrifies him. 

He loves the rain, he loves the soft yet deep rumble the lighting makes, he loves the dark skies above him. He thinks they are beautiful, they help him to relax. 

But he couldn’t stand nights like this. The heavy rain, terrible thunders and strong winds taking everything away. 

It makes him feels small, weak. 


Thunder after thunder, one more vicious than the last one.

Lance breath quickens. He knows nothing will harm him, but he’s scared. Everything suddenly stops, for a few minutes there’s peace. And Lance is allowed to breath for a moment. The rain is still going, but he dares to hope that it’s finally over. 

It’s not. 

The lighting strikes, blinding Lance. The thunder, louder, stronger, and meaner than ever, impacts in an instant. Then there’s a blackout, now everything is completely darkness.

Lance let out a little scream. He’s crying now, completely sobbing while hugging his pillow in a pitiful act to find comfort.

He hates this, he hates this. He’s so scared he can’t find the strength to get up from his bed and call one of his friends.

I should’ve gone to Hunk when i had the chance.

Lance keeps crying. The storms continues. He doesn’t hear when someones open his door. He doesn’t see either, it’s too dark and his eyes are full of tears. Everything is blurry. 

He jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder and a soft voice trying to calm him down, repeting “It’s ok, I’m here.”

It takes him several minutes to finally see who’s talking to him. 

“Shiro?” The older male smiles softly at him. He seems worried.

“Hello, buddy. Are you ok?” To be honest, Lance is not ok. 

He shook his head, and before Shiro could ask anything, Lance moved and hug him, putting his arms around his neck and hiding in the crook of his shoulder.

Shiro doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t fight his friend. He only moves to lay on the bed in a comfortable position making sure Lance didn’t let him go.

Shiro leaves a kiss on Lance’s head and caress his back as he whispers some words.

Lance nods to everything, paying attention to Shiro’s voice and doing his best to focus on him. To ignore everything around but the male he had trapped in his bed with him.

The storm keeps going and the thunders does not stop, but he wasn’t alone.

“I’ll protect you, don’t worry.”

Yeah, he didn’t have to worry anymore.

So, i live 20 minutes away from the city, there aren’t many things around my house and i can see the sea from my parents window. I like living here… but when the storm begins… well…  you get the idea. the storms are always really intense around here. 

The Other Prince + A CS Modern Royal AU [Chapter 2]

Modern Royalty AU: HRH Prince Killian has grown up in the shadow of the crown while enduring tragedy and the burdens of being the spare to the heir. With a desire to escape his past, he agrees to play host to the visiting general’s daughter in exchange for an eventual life outside royal bounds. Moving on is never that easy though and he quickly learns that being the ‘other’ prince is even more difficult when you find yourself falling for the girl everyone wants your brother to marry.

Catch Up On Previous Chapters: One
Also on FF.net and AO3.

Word Count: 4,748

Alright, here’s the first Emma POV chapter! My knowledge of the British military isn’t extensive so hopefully I didn’t muck it up too bad. Enjoy and keep an eye out - the next Killian chapter will be up soon!

“So, Elsa said that you met Walsh at the banquet last night - that new pilot they just stationed in Wales, right?”

Trying to hold back a grumble, Emma pulled her latte to her lips as she glanced down toward her half empty breakfast plate. The sun had only peeked over the distant hills a few hours earlier, but she’d only been awake for a small fraction of that time - late obligatory night be damned. She should have figured this conversation was coming and in all honesty, it wasn’t that surprising that her mother had chosen the soonest moment she could. Tapping her fingers on the side of the porcelain cup, Emma wondered if she’d still have an appetite to finish the rest of her eggs and whatever the daily pastry was when this little chat was over. She adored Mrs. Potts and the majority of things she’d baked or boiled in the estate’s large kitchen over the past six months, but the guilty pleasure of a plain old pop tart wasn’t something Emma had ever managed to shake.

One result of a normal college experience - well, as normal as attending a prestigious university could be for a daughter of a largely decorated military hero. Though it helped that she’d been able to acquire her undergraduate degree in America rather than one of the countries listed beneath the crown, it didn’t change the fact that there were very few circumstances in her honor shadowed life that Emma would dare label as ordinary.

Keep reading

if wasn’t becuase is 100% impossible, sometimes I think I would like to drop everything on my civiliced life right now, get me a pair of actual cowboy boots and fight out my cousins and uncles for a piece of my paternal grandparents old farm’s land WHILE AT THE SAME TIME fight my other half cousins and half uncles for my maternal grandfather ownership of most bussiness and basically half a small town somewhere in oaxaca, you know, por la aventura y fantasia mexicana…!

Okita wasn’t even mentioned here in the actual Japanese, as far as I could tell. The English translation of this whole conversation gives the impression that Okita drank the water of life at some point, but him not having drunk it and wondering if he should is an actual plot point later on in Sanan’s route.

If it was just the occasional thing like this, I could deal with it, but these are so frequent that it really detracts from the game. And that’s not to mention all the swearing. 

I mean, I’m glad that Kyoto Winds was translated, and I really want to support otome games in English, but wow, this translation was terrible. 

You Make Everything Better

Originally posted by wonhontology

Hyunwoo x Reader {slight angst, fluff and implied smut}

May I request a fluffy shownu smut? Anything in plot would do really. There are so few shownu ones so its a hard life when Shownu is your bias. Oh and by the way, your blog is really awesome! You have a great writing style ^-^

“Don’t wait up.” Hyunwoo tells you constantly, but you always do. It’s not something you can help, but lying in bed alone always feels so cold and lonely and you hate those late night thoughts as you stare into the black abyss of darkness and thoughts you wish you could drown out.

Being with Hyunwoo is easy, and you can confidently say that you love him, but comeback season is always the worst. You struggle with the voice inside your head, it’s like screaming when no one can hear. Your mind is like a hurricane, winds terrible thoughts inside of your head, making your eyes leak like rain. It’s hard to be so isolated inside your own head, and it’s even worse when you don’t have the consolation that you need.

Hyunwoo knows how hard you struggle sometimes, he’s spent countless amount of time awake at three in the morning with you shaking and sobbing in his arms in a mess of emotions and fear. He feels guilty, really. He can’t be with you when he knows that you need him the most during those stressful comeback weeks, he hates himself for that, but he always tries to make up for it in the best way that he can.

The sofa is starting to make your back turn numb, you’d been in the same uncomfortable position too long. You stand up, shaking the small blanket off your body and switching the TV off. You weren’t watching it anyway, it was simply background noise you didn’t care to have. You walked into the kitchen and grabbed for a mug when the click of the lock sounded.

You turn around, and Hyunwoo steps through. He looks tired, his hair is wild, and his shirt sticks to him. His practice must have been intense. He looks at you, and you can see the guilt flash in his eyes.

“Jagi, you shouldn’t wait up for me.” He says, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it up as he closes the door behind him. He walks over to you and kisses the top of your head. His lips are ice cold. It must be more wintry outside than you’d imagined. You wished you’d told him to take a coat when he’d left this morning.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You told him, “And before you complain, yes I did try. I just couldn’t.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. “I’m not annoyed. I just feel bad. It must be way past midnight by now.”

You shrug. “I have no idea. I was going to make some tea.”

Hyunwoo kisses your forehead. “Let me. Go upstairs, I’ll be there in a minute.”

You nod, leaving the mug on the side and trudging up the stairs to your shared bedroom. It’s dark, intimidatingly so somehow, so you switch on the fairy lights you’d put around all four walls and it seemed much nicer. You hate the dark, how it feels like it grabs you and torments you.

Hyunwoo isn’t long, he comes up with two mugs and a fresh set of pajamas. You smile as he hands you the warm drink and you take it thankfully, sitting at the edge of the bed and he takes the space beside you.

“{y/n} is everything okay?” he asks.

You nod, “Better now you’re here.”

He puts an arm around you, and relaxes when you lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder. “I just miss you.” You tell him.

“I miss you too.” He says, “Being away from you kills me. I hate comeback season, because it’s always much worse than I anticipate. We don’t see each other much and I hate that. I considered faking being ill this morning so I wouldn’t have to go. It’s so hard getting up in the morning and leaving when I know it’s just as easy to pull you in and cuddle you all morning.”

You smile, Hyunwoo always knows the right thing to say, and yet it’s always so sincere, a true sweetheart. Your Father had always said you’d caught yourself a good one with Hyunwoo. “You’re so cheesy.” You joke.

He chuckles, “You love it though.”

“I’m a sucker for it.” You respond, looking up to peck his lips.

He strokes your face, then you continue to drink your teas in silence. It’s a comfortable silence. It’s nice that you and Hyunwoo have the ability to do this, sit with no words but still feel so completely connected with one another. You often wonder if other people get so lucky with their partners, because to you, nothing is better than being with Hyunwoo, there is no better feeling.

He places his mug on the floor, and you do the same before shuffling under the sheets of the bed. It’s warm, and unlike before, you feel so happy. You seek the warmth of his arms, holding onto him as you get comfy. It’s like magic, the way his hands feel so nice against you skin, rough but sending sparks, he kisses you and it’s passionately beautiful.

You’d kissed Hyunwoo recently, but not like this. Not with fire burning in your core. His lips were sweet and cold, sensual, you could feel his tongue at your lip and you invited him in. your eyes were closed, but you could feel his fingers on your hip, then softly brushing under your shirt. You pulled away.

“Don’t you have practice early tomorrow?”

He hums in agreement, his lips against your neck, you could feel the bulge of his lower half grazing against you.

“You’ll be tired tomorrow.” You tell him.

“I’ll be tired anyway, plus I’ve missed this.”

You give in to his words, not that you ever needed much persuasion. He’s on top of you, his lips back on yours. It’s nights like these that you live for. You don’t have to feel quite so alone.

isn’t it funny how se hinton acts like she cares about women so much but meanwhile the outsiders BOMBS the bechdel test, the female characters are almost barely part of the story (except cherry but even so??), and pony reads “gone with the wind” which has A WOMAN as the MAIN CHARACTER and while she is never mentioned once, the “"gallant male soldiers”“ are all that are talked about



“And the mark could close it?”

“Possibly,” said the Seeker. “It is the only solution we have yet to try.”

“’Solution?’” mumbled Peter as he raised himself to one knee. “Now it sounds like we’re dealing with maths. Or chemistry…” He chuckled rather mirthlessly to himself. “I’ve always been terrible at both.” 

Peter exhaled slowly, solidifying his will before meeting Cassandra’s eyes. I’ll do what I can…” he said. “Whatever it takes.”

Aradia, Gospel of the Witches

Diana greatly loved her brother Lucifer, the god of the Sun and of Light and Splendor; who was so proud of his beauty, and who for his pride was driven from Paradise. Diana had by her brother a daughter, to whom they gave the name of Aradia.

In those days there were on earth many rich and many poor. The rich made slaves of all the poor. In those days were many slaves who were cruelly treated; in every palace tortures, in every castle prisoners.

Many slaves escaped. They fled to the country; thus they became thieves and evil folk. Instead of sleeping by night, they plotted escape and robbed their masters, and slew them. So they dwelt in the mountains and forests as robbers and assassins, all to avoid slavery.

Witnessing this, Diana said one day to her daughter Aradia:

“Tis true indeed that thou a spirit art,
But thou wert born but to become again
A mortal; thou must go to earth below
To be a teacher unto women and men
Who fain would study witchcraft in thy school.”

“And thou shalt be the first of witches known;
And thou shalt be the first of all i’ the world;
And thou shalt teach the art of poisoning,
Of poisoning those who are great lords of all;
Ye, thou shalt make them die in their palaces;
And thou shalt bind the oppressor’s souls with power.”

“And when ye find one who is rich,
Then ye shall teach the witch, your pupil, how
To ruin all his crops with tempests dire,
With lightning and with thunder terrible,
And hail and wind…”

“And when a priest shall do you injury
By his benedictions, ye shall do to him
Double the harm, and do it in the name
Of me, Diana, Queen of witches all!”

“And when the priests or the nobility
Shall say to you that you should put your faith
In the Father, Son, and Mary, then reply:

‘Your God, the Father, and Mary are but
Three devils…’

"The true God the Father is not yours;
For I have come to sweep away the bad,
The men of evil, all will I destroy!”

“Ye who are poor suffer with hunger keen,
And toil in wretchedness, and suffering too,
Full oft imprisonment; yet with it all
Ye have a soul, and for your sufferings
Ye shall be happy in the Other World,
But ill the fate of all who do ye wrong!”

Aradia: Gospel of the Witches, by Charles Godfrey Leland, c.1899.